We all look to Hayes, because Louise was his partner back then, but he shakes his head no. “I’ve tried. Many times, but she won’t even take my calls, let alone see me when I’ve gone to her family estate.”
“She still lives at home?” Sofia asks.
Hayes nods. “Yup. No apartment in the city. I’ve had people on her for years. She’s a goddamned recluse.”
The sound of running feet outside in the hall makes us all turn our heads to stare at the door.
“There she goes,” Camille quips, laughing into her drink. I definitely get the impression that Camille started drinking somewhere around daybreak. Two more sets of running footsteps follow, this time pounding ones. “And there they go, chasing her.”
“This is crazy,” Kiera says. “How the fuck is this even happening?”
“Well, I call Miss Scarlett,” Camille says. Then she smiles at Bennett and hums, “You can be Professor Plum.”
“This isn’t a game,” I snap, shooting Camille a look. “And you need to stop drinking. The last thing we need is you stumbling around drunk.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Connor. Everyone knows Hayes is running this show and he doesn’t care if I drink. Do you, Hayes?”
Hayes ignores her and picks the book back up. “We need to read this book and see what’s in it.”
“You didn’t read it yet?” I ask.
“No. We should do this together. Besides, only Kiera knows everything that happened. The rest of us have no clue.”
Camille snort-laughs at the unintended pun.
Hayes continues, still ignoring Camille. And it makes me wonder what kind of relationship the two of them have. Hayes was always in everyone’s business back in school. More of a floater, like Kiera, I reluctantly admit, than a true partner. Because we all knew Louise refused to play along.
And then I have a sudden, hot flash of jealousy. Because Kiera was there for all of it. And if Louise wasn’t playing along like she was supposed to, I have to wonder if Kiera picked up her slack.
When I look at Kiera, she’s looking straight ahead, either lost in thought at all the things she witnessed—all the things she wrote down in our book—or just refusing to engage because we’re all thinking the same thing about her and Hayes.
“Maybe it’s just… fiction?” Sofia asks.
“Come on,” Camille says. “That’s wishful thinking and you know it. Give me the fucking book,” she says, hand outstretched. “I’ll start.”
Clearly Hayes wants nothing to do with the reading of this book. Nor do any of the rest of us, because he hands the book over without comment.
Camille smiles at him, then her tongue playfully slips between her lips and lightly dances across the edge of her top teeth as she looks over at Bennett, before settling back into the couch cushions.
At least she’s not still squeezing his leg.
Camille opens the book, flips the page, pausing on what I assume is the dedication.
“What?” Sofia asks. “What’s it say?”
Camille takes a deep breath, then on the exhale says, “‘The future belongs to those who believe in their dreams.’”
“Why do I know that quote?” Bennett asks.
“Eleanor Roosevelt,” Sofia says.
“No.” Camille snorts.
“Yes. That is a quote from—”
“I mean, no. He knows it because it was written in the first book too.”
“Oh,” Bennett says, playing with his phone like he already lost interest.
It’s telling that none of us actually opened the fucking book in the last twenty-four hours to read the epitaph on the very first page. Almost as telling that we’re going to allow Camille to be the one who delivers the story. Camille is no one’s first choice for anything under normal circumstances. And it hits me then that I should not’ve been surprised to hear that Camille ended up as some do-gooder erotica author. She’s always been a weird mixture of good and evil.
I guess the part that surprised me the most about what I’ve since learned about Camille is that she’s successful.
Which maybe makes me an asshole, but I call it like I see it.
“Prologue,” Camille says. “‘I’m gonna warn you. Our story isn’t for everyone. It’s not even for us. So if you’re looking for the fairytale and the stupid fucking prince on his dumb white horse, you’ve got a hold of the wrong book. Move along. This is not your story, this is not your life, and this is not your opportunity to dip your frightened little toe into the dark pool of water and “try new things” and then pull it out and decide… #NotForMe. When you go in with us you go all in. So make a decision before you turn this page. Because I’m making one promise with this book. Just one. It’s the truth. We are the Dirty Ones and this is our story.’”
That’s the part I read to Kiera last night. The back cover copy.